


My boyfriend

by Martakus



Category: Original Work
Genre: (for the reader), BDSM, Body Worship, Bondage, Consensual, Consensual Kink, Duct Tape, Enemas, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Other, POV First Person, Suspension, Vibrators, enema, thin guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 03:59:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7027573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Martakus/pseuds/Martakus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first attempt to write in first person. The reader has some fun time with their absolutely perfect boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My boyfriend

I enter the room and turn on the dim light. There he is, sprawled out on our huge bed in the middle of the room, naked except for a pair of tight, white underpants. My boyfriend is as thin as ever, the way we both like it. He’s incredibly sexy when he arches his back in front of the mirror, watching as the smooth skin on his chest curves its way around the underside of his ribcage while I run my fingers down his abdomen, over the V-shape of his hipbones that leads down into his undies.

I bend down to kiss his neck, but he moves before I touch him. Did he fake being asleep? His bony arms close behind my back and he pulls me into a short, shivery hug. That’s another advantage of him being as slim as he is: He feels cold quite easily, which gives him an excuse to seek my embrace whenever he can. We may not look like it, but we’re actually a really cuddly couple.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’, I whisper.

He chuckles. ‘Yes. We’ve talked about it often enough’, he replies with a smile. His voice is made by the gods. Somewhat rough, not all that deep, but still incredibly attractive.

‘Okay.’

I roll him onto his back and put his hands on his forehead. Then I take a small, remote-controlled vibrator and push it into his right nipple. Of course it doesn’t go in. He may have male boobs, but he’s also stick thin. Therefore, I grab a little more of his breast and pinch it, pushing the nipple and the vibrator downwards until it vanishes under the rolled-up skin. To make sure it stays there, I grab a roll of duct tape and stick it on top of the boy’s chest. I look into his eyes, and he gives me a brief smile, encouraging me to go on.

I repeat the procedure with his other nipple. It’s a funny thing: The way his chest is duct-taped, it looks as if the boy had much larger male boobs and someone was trying to hide them, though in reality, it’s the other way around. He’s got a flat chest, but inserting vibrators into it and duct taping it made it swell.

I build a small heap of pillows and my boyfriend gladly lays down on it face-down. We both know what’s coming next. One after another, I handcuff his arms and legs to the bed posts. They have thickenings every few centimeters, which is crucial. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to fix the chains two feet above the mattress – they’d just slide down. Then I carefully tighten the chains until my boyfriend is fixed on top of the pillow pile, his arms and legs stretched and unable to move.

I turn his head towards mine to check how he is feeling. He gulps tightly, but smiles to tell me to go on.

One by one, I pull out the pillows from underneath my boyfriend. With each one, his weight shifts away from the pillows and toward his arms and legs a little more. I was astonished by how silent my boyfriend had stayed at first, but that’s over. Now, he is all pants and muffled moans. Soon, there are convulsions all over his body as his muscles struggle to hold him up in the air. His chest has turned into a bright violet. His arms are being pulled back, and his boobs are trying to follow the movement, but it can’t.

Finally, there’s just one pillow left. It only supports his abdomen, so whenever he dares to relieve one of his limbs, it feels like a punch in the stomach. I take a minute to watch his facial expression, and it’s marvelous. His eyes are squinted shut, and his mouth keeps changing its shape. He pants, he bites his lip, he smirks, he winces, he sucks in air, he moans…

I remove the last pillow, and for the first time, he doesn’t try to hold back on his voice. He lets out a long, tortured groan that I, for some reason, find very arousing. Smiling, I run my hand over his shivering skin: Over his shoulder blades, down his back, then slowly onto his still-clothed ass. The front of his underpants is tented and soaked. How couldn’t it be? All that writhing around has got to cause a lot of friction between his legs, and his underpants rub against his penis with every movement. Playfully, I touch the crack between his butt cheeks with a single finger. He moans even louder than before. Of course, I’m not actually going to finger him, but he isn’t in a state of mind where he can control his thoughts. No matter how hard he tries, from now on he’s going to imagine a finger – or perhaps even a dildo? – nudging its way towards his asshole, ignoring his underpants and penetrating him.

Some time later, tiny stretchmarks are beginning to form on his chest, and I decide it’s time for the finale. ‘Cum?’, I ask. He continues to gulp and hiccup and suck in air for a few seconds before he manages to say: ‘Yes.’

There is nothing left of his voice. Nothing left of that steady, musical baritone. All that’s left is a pathetic, degrading, high-pitched whimper. I decide I want to hear more of it. I squat before the head-side of the bed and tilt his chin up with two fingers until we’re on face level. ‘I’m not sure I understood what you meant there. Didn’t I teach you to speak in full sentences?’

He has to force himself to keep eye contact. Everything in him is screaming to squeeze them back shut and throw his head around – as if that would help. But he doesn’t look away, just nods.

‘So, tell me. Do you want me to masturbate and cum all over you? Do you want to drink my cum? Or would you rather have it inserted through your ass via an enema bag?’

He shakes his head violently, trying to say something, but he only managed to gasp for air.

‘Well, if you don’t tell me what you want, I’ll just go with whatever I feel like’, I continue. Of course, I’m not going to do any of these things – but that’s not the point. The point is that I COULD. It’s the same like when I touched his butt crack before – I’m creating images in his head, images he won’t be able to stop thinking about. I can almost see those scenarios flash before his eyes: How his butt cheeks would be forcibly separated… how I’d cut a little hole into his underpants and fit the enema nozzle through it… how my cum would spurt into him, filling him up… how little it would take for his thin body to start bulging… how the bulge would start to grow, making him heavier and heavier… putting more and more strain onto his already worn-out arms and legs… how his huge stomach would eventually hit the mattress… squishing his penis… how he’d start coughing and retching because his body just couldn’t contain all that fluid any more… how nothing would come out because his bowels were empty… how I might decide to plug his butt and force him to stay fat for hours on end… hours in which he’d be completely at my mercy, because if his body was already so tired he could hardly move now, it definitely wouldn’t be able to carry him when he weighed twice as much…

I stand up in order to get him back from reality. He knows it’s now or never. ‘P-p-please… I w-w-w-want t-t-to… cum’, he stutters. I smile and grab the remote control of the vibrators. ‘Why didn’t you say so right away, my dear?’, I ask as I put the vibrators on full power. His nipples were already ravaged and sore, but this is another level. He whimpers and writhes so hard the bed posts start to swing. Within seconds, the stain on his underpants grows bigger. I turn off the vibrators and loosen all his chains. He falls down onto the mattress, convulsions still running through his body. Whether it’s because he has just cum or because his muscles have been strained for so long – I don’t know. But I don’t care. I get on the bed and pull him close, tousling his hair and kissing his forehead. ‘Are you okay?’, I ask. My boyfriend steadies his breath and says: ‘Don’t think I’ve felt better in my life before’, before he grabs my head and smacks our lips together, inviting me into a passionate, hungry kiss.

When our lips finally part, he asks: ‘So… when can we repeat this?’ and smirks.


End file.
